because he knows for a fact barton is three blocks away

Set-up

Ok ok so I know this took me like 2 weeks to get out lol
I really like how this one turned out though!
Something like this actually happened to my friend so yeah haha
Hope you guys like it too :-)

Title: Set-up
Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader x Natasha Romanov
Summary: “you’re a recruit and Steve tries to set you up with natasha, and natasha tries to set you up with Steve, and they find out each other’s plans. You can take it in whatever direction from there.”
Word Count: 839
Warnings: None I think lol    

Your name: submit What is this?

           "You’re hitting too low,“ Natasha instructed as you wiped the sweat from your brow.

           You had been training with her for a while now, and boy was she kicking your ass. You were a new recruit, and even with the tips from Natasha, you were no match for her skill. Her moves were perfected to a T, whereas yours came from street fighting. Your muscles burned as you continued to swing, with Natasha coaching you the whole time.

           "You’re favoring your left,” she murmured as she blocked your hits with ease. “Don’t lean back so much.”

           Finally, you groaned loudly, throwing your hands up in defeat. Natasha laughed lightly as you walked over to the side of the room, taking a drink from your water bottle. Typically she would yell at you to get back at it, but considering how much you were sweating, she let  you off the hook this time.

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Can’t Be Fixed (Clint Barton x reader)

Requests:

1. Imagine Clint seeing the guy that hurt his girlfriend (the reader) in the past

2. Do you do song fics? If you do, can you please do one with the song “Arms” by Christina Perri. With Clint and the reader please?

I never thought that you would be the one to hold my heart

But you came around and you knocked me off the ground from the start

You put your arms around me

And I believe that it’s easier for you to let me go

You put your arms around me and I’m home

“Why are women so hard to figure out?” Clint groaned, resting his head on the kitchen table on top of his crossed arms, his posture looking completely defeated.

Steve stopped mid-chew and looked at him, clearly and completely confused.  “Are you afking meef?” he asked, with a mouth full of cereal threatening to spill.

“Do you see anyone else here?”

The Captain looked around the room as he finished chewing, completing with a forced swallow and returning to looking at Clint with confusion.  “No, but you ask me of all people?  I have a less than stellar track record with the ladies. At least you have a girlfriend.”

Had…a girlfriend.”

Steve leaned back in his chair and set his bowl down on the table, the room now holding a silence so uncomfortable that the sound of his spoon hitting the side of it resonated around them.  He took a deep breath and waited for Barton to say any more, but when he didn’t, he finally broke the quiet with a single word.

“Again?”  

How many times will you let me change my mind and turn around?

I can’t decide if I’ll let you save my life or if I’ll drown

I hope that you see right through my walls

I hope that you catch me ‘cause I’m already falling

I’ll never let our love get so close

You put your arms around me and I’m home

The world is coming down on me and I can’t find a reason to be loved

I never wanna leave you but I can’t make you bleed if I’m alone

Dating Clint was exactly as you imagined it would be from the day that Natasha had introduced you to him.  Sure, she had talked him up, making him sound like the world’s perfect boyfriend, but she really wasn’t far off.  It was an easy friendship that didn’t take long to develop into love, but your own fears of how to be in a relationship kept getting in the way.  You had been hurt too many times and it clouded your attempts at happiness, with your last attempt before Clint being much more traumatic than any others.

“Was this argument any different than the last one?” Maria asked, handing you a glass of wine, though you only pushed it away. “Or any different than the last hundred?”

“Smartass,” you scoffed, “don’t you think I know how this looks?  When I say ‘it’s not him, it’s me’, I mean it.  I screw these things up, no matter how good they are for me.  He’s better off just moving on once and for all.”

She sat herself down at the table across from you, gently swirling her glass in her hands, careful to not allow the dark red liquid to spill over the rim.  Several minutes had passed with her watching you, maybe waiting for you to say something, or maybe waiting to know what to say, but the silence was grating on the both of you.

“Maria, just say what you want to say.  I can take it.”

She cleared her throat and took a long drink from her glass, setting it down and waiting for a moment again before she spoke. She looked at you until you finally relented and met her gaze, making it clear that she wanted you to hold it.  “(Y/N), have you ever thought that maybe the reason you keep going back to him is because that’s where you’re supposed to be?”

“But I’m a mess.  He deserves better.”

“Says you.”

Finally giving in, you took a drink and didn’t stop until the glass was empty, cringing at the dry burn in your throat as you swallowed heavily.  With a small cough and a quick rub of your eyes to stop the tears that were ready to drop, you stood and began to pace in front of her, but she remained motionless as she watched you.

“Yeah, says me.  Listen, I’ve proven time and time again…well, maybe not that many times…but repeatedly that I’m broken.  I can’t maintain a healthy relationship to save my life, so why would I put him through that?  Hmm? Tell me, Maria.  I’m open to suggestions.”

“Okay, how about because he wants you to.”

~~~

After you had left Maria’s and headed back to your own apartment, she called Clint to let him know that you had been by and to give him an idea of how your conversation had gone.  It wasn’t that she was betraying your trust, per se, rather that she was trying to get you to see that you were wrong, because she knew that she was right.

Clint also knew that you were wrong, and he was on his way to do his best to convince you of that when he ran into the boyfriend that had come before him; the guy who Clint felt was the biggest responsibility for the current situation.  He might have let his presence slide if he hadn’t been standing in front of your building and yelling up to your window, appearing to be in a state of sloppy drunkenness.

“Hey, man.  I think you should take the hint that (Y/N) doesn’t want to talk to you by the fact that her window’s still closed.”

Your ex turned at the sound of Clint’s voice and immediately slouched, disappointed that his efforts to get your attention were stopped by him of all people.  “Well, shit,” he groaned, “of anyone to walk along this sidewalk right now, it had to be you, huh?  Mr. Big Hero Man.  Obviously not Mr. Perfect though.”  He gave a sideways smile and turned back towards your building, again making far too much noise, “(Y/N)!  Come out here and talk to me!”

You had been able to ignore him for the past thirty minutes, but now you were worried that your neighbors would start to get pissed at the incessant noise.  Pushing the smallest opening that you could in your curtains, you peeked out to the sidewalk below, gasping and throwing them open when you saw Clint next to him. With a little extra effort, you were able to push your old and weathered window open so that you could hear them more clearly.

“I may not be perfect, no, but I’ve heard the same about you.  And I think it would be in your best interests to leave.”  Clint took a few more steps towards him but stopped when he saw you from the corner of his eye.  “If she wants to be left alone, I’m going to make sure that she’s left alone.”

Your ex towered over Clint by at least a foot in height, but he was no match for the Avenger if a fight were to break out. Though you wouldn’t admit it out loud, there was a part of you that wanted to see Clint unleash on the guy, and to see him beat some sense into him after the agony he had put you through. Clint had only known about a half of the details, but they were enough for you to know that he wouldn’t hold back.

“Clint, I’m fine, just go,” you yelled to him from above.  “I’m not letting him in.”

“Come on, (Y/N), I just want to talk to you!  Don’t be such a bitch!”

“One.”

He looked over at Clint with a quizzical look, his head tilted to the side.  “What?”

“Two.”

“What the hell are you doing, bird brain?”

“Counting,” Clint paused, an eyebrow raised as he waited for a response of either a fight or a flee, but neither came.  

“Three.”

It was impressive how fast Clint had the jerk face down on the ground with his heel dug into his spine so that he couldn’t move.  It wasn’t that you enjoyed the sound of him crying, but the smile that crossed your lips felt good.  And watching Clint in action was something that you rarely had a chance to do; if you stayed with him, you wanted to make it a point to see more of it.  “Clint, let him go,” you called down to him, “I think he gets your point.”

“Do you get my point?” Clint smirked, kneeling down next to the man who now looked at him with fear in his eyes.  “Is the lady correct?”

“Ow…ugh…yeah…yeah, I get it.”  Once he was released he quickly made his way down the sidewalk with a slight limp in his step, not looking back, and not likely to return. You closed your window without another word to Clint, who was standing in place, staring up at you with surprise and and a hint of hurt as you slowly pulled the curtains in to cover the glass and block his view of you.  You wanted to spare him the sight of you falling apart, knowing that he would try to fix it.  He would try to fix you.

I try my best to never let you in to see the truth

And I’ve never opened up

I’ve never truly loved till you put your arms around me

And I believe that it’s easier for you to let me go

You sat in your apartment in silence for over an hour, still in place on the floor beneath the window.  A part of you expected Clint to knock on your door, but it never happened. You were relieved but also sad, not knowing if this was really the end or if it was another rotation in the cycle that the two of you seemed stuck in.  You had broken up and reconciled so many times, that to think it would stick this time hurt more than you had anticipated.  

You wanted to call him, but your hand wouldn’t move; this was the right thing, you were sure of it.  He deserved someone who knew how to love him back, and you couldn’t bring yourself to believe that it was you.  Finally convincing yourself to stand, you shook off the pins and needles sensation in your legs to pull yourself up along the windowsill, peeking out between the curtains at where Clint had been.

Except that he was still there, looking up at you.  

Your hand raised to give a small wave, but it wasn’t reciprocated.  He simply smiled softly and slowly turned to walk away, not looking back but knowing that you were watching.  He had waited for you one final time, so that you knew he was giving you what you wanted. So that you knew that it was done.

But now that you had what you thought you wanted, all you wanted was him.

6

A/N: I hope you all like it! It’s my first Phlint, ClintCoulson, ShieldHusbands (or whatever else you might call Phil/Clint).

Natasha sets Clint up on a date, and Clint’s having trouble picking between roses and… whatever those are.


Clint Barton knows nothing about flowers.

He realizes this at the last possible moment, of course, when he’s standing in the flower shop two blocks from the restaurant he’s supposed to meet Natasha at for his blind date at six PM sharp.

Clint’s brow is furrowed, arms crossed against a soft purple button-down, his hip cocked as he worries his lip between his teeth. Its 5:54 exactly, and there’s no way he can pick between the roses, the daisies, and the carnations in six minutes.

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Fic: Weekend At Bartons

(a little something for friends having a hard time.  Sorry, it’s not Doreen. 8) )

“I own an amazing apartment in Paris.”

“Nice,” Clint said, not looking up from his game.

“I have a villa there, too.” Tony stalked across the room, his feet clomping along with the petulance of a child. Clint angled his head to try to keep a clear line to the tv. “A penthouse in Hong Kong.”

“Hey, awesome.” Clint flopped onto his back, aiming his head for Nat’s lap. He managed it, more or less, and she glared down at him. He gave her a bright smile. “Hi, Nat!”

“Hello, loser,” she said, but she ruffled his hair with a careless hand.

“I think I still have that ranch in Texas,” Tony said. He paused. “Or was that Brazil?”

“Those are two very different places, Tony,” Nat said, going back to her reading. With her free hand, she reached for her tea cup. “Very different.”

“It involved cows, that’s all I remember,” Tony admitted. “I own a ranch, and I’m sure that Pepper’s got the details about the fact that I own it..”

“Or you did,” Nat agreed. “Is there a point to this?”

“There’s the property in California, and a little island in the Carribean, and favors I could call in from Abu Dhabi to Zurich,” Tony said.

“There’s no point to this,” Clint said.

“I’m getting that,” Nat said.

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Eclipse - Chapter 1: Lavender Mint

Eclipse

Chapter 1: Lavender Mint

“Are you robbing me?” Iris walks up behind Barry and peers over his shoulder as he shamelessly rummages through her purse where she’d left it behind the counter at Jitters. She absently begins closing out her register without really expecting a reply.

It’s Wednesday, which means that while she has to be at work to open at 6 am, she only works a half shift. Barry always comes over for his break in time for her to close up, and they have a coffee together and catch up before she heads off to study or, more often lately, write her blog.

Wednesdays have become Iris’ favorite day. She would never do it without the motivation of having to be somewhere, but she has come to love being awake at dawn. Last week she’d made Barry come over to walk her to work and watch the sunrise with her. He’d called her on his way over to grumble about having to be up so early and they stayed on the phone until he arrived. He had shown up adorably sleepy and fake-grumpy, going silent only to watch her put on her make-up with a look in his eyes Iris couldn’t quite place because she never understood why he seemed to enjoy watching her get ready so much given how often he’d seen it over the years.

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Title: The Sketchbook

Notice: The picture is in fact my own work, please do not use it and call it your own!

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Warnings: I don’t really think there are any… There may be some language, some thought provoking statements, and there is some pain, but there is fluff!

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

You sighed, scrambling to gather your sketchbook, and art materials because you had to leave the small, cozy coffee shop and head off to your first day on the job working with the Avengers. You didn’t have any powers, but you had a special skill set similar to Agents Romanov and Barton.

You had finished your coffee, and discarded that in the trash as you left the building, your sketchbook in your right hand, and a purse with all your supplies in your left. You didn’t really like the idea of walking around New York with a whole lot of money on your person at any given time, so in your back pocket there was a neatly folded twenty dollar bill, your badge, and cell phone.

Not carrying a lot with you also meant that you didn’t like to have an umbrella on hand, and didn’t have a hoodie; you regretted that when you were six blocks away from the Avenger’s Tower because the sky unleashed its rage in rain that came down hard.

You tucked your sketchbook into your leather jacket the best you could to keep it from getting wet, and picked up the pace as your hair quickly became heavy, sodden with rain.

Everyone else began to scramble to get to their desired locations before the rain could come down any harder, and made maneuvering the sidewalk difficult.

You could see the tower’s front door by time there were huge puddles pretty much everywhere, and the crowd was even more hectic, people knocking into you left and right.

To your dismay, you didn’t have anywhere near enough time to avoid the businessman that was animatedly talking to his Bluetooth, yelling at some guy named Grant. So you collided with his shoulder, sending you to the ground face first, exclaiming, “Fucking Shit!” ripping your jeans, scraping your cheek and hand, but worst of all: sending your sketchbook with three years worth of art straight into a puddle where careless people walked all over it.

You could have cared less about the jeans, the holes in your (sadly, new) leather jacket, or the stinging sensation on your face, and in your hands. It just crushed you to see your most valued possession, ruined in a mater of a second.

You sighed, biting your lip and picking up the now soggy book before carrying on and entering the Avengers Tower, your head down, holding back the tears that begged to spill out rather well.

You realized you were late for your first day, when you were supposed to meet all of the Avengers, and you looked like hell upon entering the main lobby. You sighed, hoping your tardiness would go unnoticed as you sped towards the elevator.

You would have stopped to fix yourself up any other day, but you just couldn’t bare being any later and ruining any first impressions.

You had heard the elevator doors ding open, but didn’t bother to look to see if there were any outgoing persons. This caused you to face plant into a rock hard chest, and made you look up to only meet eyes with Captain Steve Rogers.

“Uh… Are you okay ma'am?” He asked, nodding towards your cheek that now had a bit of blood on it.

You sighed deeply through your nose, feigning a smile, before answering, “Yeah… It’s just one of those days…”

“I guess you’re (Y/N) (Y/L/N), the new Avenger, right?”

“Yeah… Trust me, I normally would look better, and I’d love to chat, but I kind of have some other business to deal with…” You sighed, eyes drifting to the sodden book you held in your hands.

He had just noticed the sketchbook in your hands, probably because of your side glance, and a look of realization dawned on his face, “You must have taken a pretty bad spill out there,” he rubbed the back of his neck, gesturing you to follow him into the elevator and pushing a floor number, “I think everyone else can wait… We should get you cleaned up, and I can see what I can do to fix up that sketchbook of yours?”

“Thanks, but I don’t think that this can be fixed,” you sighed, holding up the book that had water dripping off its ends. A single paper fell from the middle of the book, it was the drawing you had started in the café, and it was bone dry by some miracle.

Steve stooped down to pick it up, before gawking at the illustration, “this is amazing! Where did you learn to draw like this?”

You blushed, tucking some wet hair behind your ear, and muttering, “I’m self taught… It’s just a hobby, really… I may have picked up some things from my dad…”

“You know, with a talent like this, I wouldn’t be surprised if you could make all of the sketches you have in there ten times better.”

“You think so?” You asked, looking up at him, blushing deeper.

“Yeah, I mean, I always thought that every line in a sketch served a purpose, even the erased ones help to make you better.” He stated, handing the drawing back to you and leading you out to the main part of the tower where several Avengers were waiting.

You blushed immediately, realizing how bad you must look right now. After making eye contact with your showmen that had become very interesting, Pepper Potts walked up to you, seizing your arm and leading you back into the elevator.

“Did I do something?” You asked, going pale as the doors closed.

“No. I saw you spin out down there and figured that, rather than standing in a room full of men while wearing soggy clothes, you’d rather borrow an old outfit I don’t wear anymore.” She stated plainly, offering you a warm smile.

Pepper had given you a very nice pair of blue jeans that fit you well, and she had also given you a dark blue blouse that again, fit you nicely. You were very grateful of her kind gesture and had thanked her several times before you had made your way back up to the meeting room.

The meeting wasn’t really a meeting, it was more of less a first impression type thing where you got to know everyone. Well everyone that was on earth, because Thor was on Asgard and Vision was… somewhere… nobody really knew where.

You were trying to salvage what you could from the book while debating if AC/DC was better than Black Sabbath with Tony Stark, and you were actually winning.

Steve had walked up to you, and was actually looking fairly flustered, giving Agents Romanov and Barton who were standing behind you, a death glare.

“So, (Y/N)… I was wondering if you’d like to get together sometime, and you know… Go out for fondue or something?”

Tony burst out laughing,“ Cap! If you want to fondue with her, you have to take her out to dinner first!”

He turned a brilliant shade of red, “Tony! I-I-I didn’t mean that kind of fondue! I meant cheese and bred!”

You also turned scarlet, realizing what Stark meant by “fondue” and you really hoped that your attempts to hide your face worked.

Barton and Romanov were laughing their asses off by the time Steve spoke to you again, trying to ask you out to dinner.

“Steve, stop… I’d love to go out with you, how’s about Friday night, six, at that shawarma place down the street?”

“Y-yeah. That sounds good.” He said, grinning like an idiot,

“Hey, (Y/N) I heard they had a senior discount fro-”

“Tony, really? Aren’t the senior citizen jokes kind of old?”

“No way Capsicle, and they never will be.”

Steve rolled his eyes, “(Y/N) why don’t we head down to my apartment later? I think I have something to fix up your sketchbook over there.”

“You know what Steve?” You said, glancing down at the one page that was still intact,“I think I can make a better one, with these erased lines to help make me do better…” You said, blushing before leaning up to give him a peck on the cheek, “thanks for the offer though.”

This made him blush bright red, and Tony made both of your blushes deepen when he let out a low whistle, yelling at Bruce, who was working on his laptop, “Banner, stop playing Galaga and pay up the ten bucks you owe me!”

“Why does he owe you ten dollars?”

“I made a bet with him that Cap would fondue with a lady friend before New Years!”

“Tony! We were drunk!”

“You made a bet on wether or not I’d fondue with somebody?” Steve asked, growing even redder,

Your (E/C) eyes met his blue ones, before you kissed his cheek again, grinning, “Just ignore him, I don’t know wether or not we’ll fondue, but why don’t we go over to my place after we get shawarma and watch a movie, your pick.”

He smiled a little more confidently, “I’d like that… A lot.”

Writer Kat